


Turnabout

by Not_You



Series: Dreamhouse [10]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Ageplay, Bathing/Washing, Begging, Daddykink, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Incest Play, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Past Abuse, Storytelling, Switching, clint's bleak-ass canon family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a kinkmeme prompt:</p><p>
  <i>I like daddy kink stories, but the power dynamic always makes me uncomfortable, so I was hoping one of you amazing people could write a story in which Clint and Phil like to do the daddy sexual roleplay thing but they like to switch up the roles every so often.</i>
</p><p>Since Dreamhouse is already here and they've always switched in my head, here is the tale of the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Storytime

It starts with Phil feeling guilty. This is not a feeling he generally associates with gazing lovingly down at a sleeping Clint, but then again, neither is envy. The last month or so has been very trying, or as Clint would say, "a bag of dicks." Easing Clint down into a place where he doesn't say things like that usually eases Phil down, too. Sitting here in his comfortable bed with Clint cuddled up beside him he should be calm, not strangely alert and on edge. Usually he at least dozes while Clint sleeps, or just lies there and pets him like a cat because he is perfect and Phil will never get over it, but right now it's all he can do not to grind his teeth, and he gets up and goes down to the kitchen. He can't escape his baseless and unfair resentment, but he can at least do the dishes and make himself useful.

The kitchen is actually fairly clean, and Phil is reduced to scrubbing the dust off of the good china before Clint comes padding up and wraps around him from behind. He's wearing that hideous wreck of a bathrobe that he won't let Phil throw out, of course, and Phil grimaces down at the stains on the sleeves.

"Tell me what's wrong, Daddy," Clint says, hoarse and adult and teasing, and Phil has to smile. "Besides like, everything, of course."

"Ugh, don't remind me." He sighs, relaxing a bit as Clint kisses the side of his neck, dropping his head forward when it turns into a bite.

"Mm, but usually you're in a better mood after." He'd say 'after fucking,' but they both know that's not it, that even when Clint goes to that deep, rare place where he really just wants Daddy to hold him that it's good for Phil. Usually is. Should be. He makes a little sound in his throat, miserable. Clint tenses a bit behind him, but speaks evenly.

"Getting sick of it and don't want to tell me?"

"Yes—no!" He clutches at Clint's arms to keep him close, because it has taken Clint so long to believe that Phil won't tire of him and leave. Throw him out, really, he's barely at his apartment anymore. "I… I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Okay." Clint nuzzles Phil's shoulder. "Why don't we go back to bed and talk it over?"

Relationship and sexual talks are supposed to happen upright and fully clothed for maximum responsibility, but Clint has taught Phil the benefit of cuddling up under the same blanket and murmuring out their difficulties in a warm cocoon. Now he wraps around Phil's back again, and it's so soothing to be held like that, completely protected. He sighs, and relaxes a little. Clint nuzzles the nape of his neck. Phil swallows, trying to find some words for how he feels.

"I'm mostly angry with myself, I think."

"What for?"

Phil sighs, glad he doesn't have to look at Clint. "For envying you, I think."

"Huh."

"For once seeing you so peaceful didn't make me feel the same. I hate it."

"Sounds to me like we need to switch, daddy-o."

"What?"

"You usually take care of me whether I go little or not, but lately you've had way too much shit on your mind. Maybe you need a break from the driver's seat."

"…I haven't done that in years," Phil finally admits, and blushes to remember what he has done.

"You don't say 'never,' so spill."

"You and Thor first."

Clint laughs. "Well, pretty soon after we moved into the apartment we got totally fucking wasted and played strip Candy Land at four in the morning."

"Candy Land, Clint?"

"Hey, it was what we had. And could understand, at that point." Phil's stomach tightens, and he's unsure he wants to hear about bleary and barely-remembered fumbling. Clint nuzzles his neck and gives him a little squeeze. "Anyway, we woke up bareass naked on the floor with pieces scattered everywhere and cards stuck to our skin." Phil chuckles, and he can feel Clint's smile against his skin. "Yeah. I was slumped sorta half-on Thor's chest, and when I opened my eyes I was staring right down at Asgardian morning wood. Biggest cock I've ever seen in real life." Phil shivers and blushes, and Clint chuckles. "I looked up at him and he was awake too, just grinning down at me. Neither of us had a hangover, so I asked him if he wanted to fool around, and he did." He slides his palm up over Phil's chest, rubbing slow circles as he continues. "He said he wasn't gay but didn't mind messing around with a guy once in a while, and that he wanted to kiss me, whatever we did, and to still be friends. I said okay."

"Is he a good kisser?" Phil whispers, pressing into the touch.

"Yeah. About like you'd expect. Enthusiastic, y'know?" Clint digs his nails in gently, making Phil shiver. "The beard is softer than it looks, and he loves to have his mouth goddamn tongue-fucked. It got too slobbery for me, but it was a slobbery good time." Phil chuckles, and moans as Clint grips his cock, stroking it slowly to full hardness as he speaks. "I wound up on my back with Thor humping along my dick like the fate of the world depended on it and trying to suck my tongue out of my head. You know he's fucking huge, but he seems bigger without his clothes on. He just kinda filled up the world." For the first time he actually hesitates. "I liked it a lot, 'cause I know he could fucking destroy me, but he was so fucking gentle."

Phil whimpers. "I can relate." Clint doesn't loom over him, but there's still something dangerous wound into the taut stillness of his muscles. As if he can hear Phil's thoughts, Clint gently squeezes his throat with one strong hand, making him buck and whine, shaking. "Clint…"

"Hush," Clint purrs, "I'm not gonna hurt you." He rubs his thumb over Phil's pulse and Phil moans, melting back against him. He wasn't worried in the first place, and tries to prove it by tipping his head back.

"Trust you," he whispers, and feels Clint shudder, grinding against his ass.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He cries out softly as Clint's grip tightens in both hands. "Oh, _fuck_ …"

"You like that?" Clint growls, and all Phil can do is whine, pressing into Clint's hands and sobbing softly, because this is at least some of what he needs, right here. He makes a sound that he can't name and doesn't recognize when he comes, and his vision greys out for a while as he shakes down to calm in Clint's arms.


	2. Father Figures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clint sets up his Daddy persona and muses on its origins.

So Phil needs to sub out for a while. Problem solved, right? Holding and rocking Phil and trying to get the poor guy to stop crying, Clint curses himself for not realizing that this was a possibility. They hadn't even been doing anything that crazy, just light bondage and a little flogging, but somehow it's all gone to hell. He had been easing Phil up to full swing and then Phil had yellow-lighted and he had just tickled him with the tails for a while and told him how good he was being. Another two experimental licks with it, very gentle, and suddenly Phil was whimpering for Clint to please not hurt him through shocking floods of tears that only upset him more because he had had no way to explain them. For the moment he's given up on that, and is just clinging to Clint and blubbering quietly. Clint has no idea what to do besides what he's doing, and hopes to god Phil will be able to get his shit together just enough to give him some kind of fucking hint.

"Baby, please, it's okay." He kisses the side of Phil's face where it's tucked in against his neck. "It's okay, I'm sorry I upset you. I'd never hurt you for real."

Phil whimpers, and pulls in a deep, shaking breath, clinging desperately. "Daddy…" He whines, soft and needy, and Clint shudders. Oh. So Phil needs to sub out _and_ be pampered and cossetted and endlessly loved on. Okay. He pulls a blanket off the bed and wraps it around both of them.

"I love you, Phil, and you know we don't have to play any game that makes you upset." He shifts Phil a little to keep the circulation in his legs going, but keeps him in his lap. "I never want to hurt you."

Phil nods and manages to stop crying, clinging for a long time before he finally takes a deep breath and sits up, rubbing his hands over his face. "God. Sorry about that, Clint."

"You'd tell me not to be sorry. Fuck, you _have_ told me not to be sorry."

He chuckles. "You're right. I have. I just… I was not expecting that."

"I should hope not, shit. You okay now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Wow."

Clint kisses him, and they go to the kitchen to make milky tea and figure out how they're going to do this. Phil is all wrapped up in the blanket, sipping his mug of tea and explaining about his own daddy issues. They're nothing and everything like Clint's, it turns out. The senior Mr. Coulson was apparently not much different with his own children than he was with Clint at Easter dinner, which is to say polite but distant. So none of the being slapped around for baby Phil, but even more of the longing for connection. Clint's had been beaten out of him early on, but since Phil's dad wasn’t an abusive dickhead and was actually nice when he was around, Phil had just quietly (totally not) grown out of it. It's poignant as shit in context, seeing as Mr. Coulson has provided comfort and emotional succor for childish generations of the neglected.

"Well," Clint finally says, "I mostly know what not to do, but that's something, right?"

Phil laughs, leaning on him. "It's a start."

It takes another week to put everything in place and get everyone's schedule to work out, but finally Clint is sitting here waiting, hoping to god this works. After their Christmas in the cabin Clint had been forced to admit that he really did want to take it out of bed and actually scene more and they have, so there's some kid-friendly food in the kitchen and they already have plenty of toys and blankets and appropriate books. Phil isn't planning to go very little today, just down to adolescence, but plans are merely so much piss in the wind. Clint's mouth is dry, and he takes another swig of his beer. Much as his own dad had been a mean drunk, Abe Tierney down the block had always been nursing a beer any time Clint had been over, making the stuff part of some of his only pleasant memories from early childhood. This whole persona owes a lot to him. He was a hardworking and harddrinking blue-collar guy like Clint's father, but instead of the work making him bitter and the drink making him mean, the one made him grateful to come home to his family and the other made him clumsy and sweet and silly. He never hit anybody, and only raised his voice to let the whole neighborhood in on Mrs. Tierney being the most beautiful human being on earth or 'Stairway to Heaven' being the greatest song ever written.

Phil's key in the lock calls Clint back to the present, and he sets the bottle down and waits, taking a few deep breaths and getting into the right mindset. He knows Phil got his text that they're still on for today, and that he's going to walk in with his persona in place and his schedule cleared. He does, a moment later, and it's shocking how young he looks.

"Hey, kiddo. How was school?"

"…Okay, I guess," Phil mutters, coming over to Clint's chair and smiling shyly as Clint reaches up to undo his tie.

"Just okay?" Clint teases, lightly chucking him under the chin as the knot comes loose.

"I have a bunch of homework, Daddy. I'm afraid I'll fall behind."

"You won't." He flips open the top few buttons of Phil's shirt. "You're not just smart, you work hard." Phil blushes and squirms, looking embarrassed and profoundly happy. Clint chuckles. "Such a good kid. You hungry?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Well, let's fix that." He heaves himself up and drains the bottle, putting his arm around Phil's shoulders and herding him to the kitchen. "You better not have skipped lunch again, boy."

Phil shakes his head. "No, Daddy, but it was a long time ago."

"Well, sit down and let me fix you something."


	3. Stress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy can't let his boy work too hard. It's for his own good.

Phil really isn't prepared for how comforting this is, just sitting here and watching Clint fix him canned soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. Kid food, of course. Right now Phil feels like a fourteen-year-old who feels very babyish. And also that his Daddy loves him and won't judge him for it. His sandwich is cut into two triangles, and Clint has shaken a little dried basil into the tomato soup. It adds just enough complexity to the simple taste, and Phil devours it. He was telling the truth before. Lunch was substandard curry six hours ago, and he's almost shocked at how much better he feels after finishing both his first and second helpings. He thanks Clint, who just grins at him.

"Good. Now, remember what I said about working too hard, baby?"

Phil blushes. "Yes, Daddy."

"So before you get started on all that homework, you're gonna relax."

And Daddy is going to help him. Phil shudders and nods, squirming in his seat. Clint chuckles and kisses his forehead, taking Phil's hand and leading him upstairs to the bathroom. He closes the toilet and sits Phil down on the lid, kneeling beside the tub and running steaming hot water into it.

"Aw, Daddy! I can run my own bath." Phil blushes and squirms more than ever, bound up in the briefs he hasn't worn since he was about the age he's pretending to be.

"Whether you can or not ain't the point, kid." Clint switches on the cold as well and swirls his fingers through the water. "This is about your health."

"What?"

"It's bad for growing boys to be too tense." He adds a liberal dose of the lavender oil Natasha gave Phil a few years back, trailing his hand from one end of the tub to the other, stirring it in as the soothing scent rises. Phil shivers and Clint glances over his shoulder, grinning. "Come on, get your clothes off." Phil blushes, and removes each piece with prissy care, folding and stacking them neatly. Clint smiles. "Always so neat."

"I like to take care of my things, Daddy."

"I know, baby." He turns and kisses Phil's cheek. "You're such a good boy."

Phil blushes. "Really, Daddy?"

"Yes, really. Now get in the goddamn tub."

Phil does, easing slowly into the hot, scented water, hissing as his skin goes pink. The heat starts to unknot his muscles and he sighs, sinking into place. Clint grins, and kisses the top of his head. "Stay. Soak."

"Yes, Daddy," Phil mumbles, and closes his eyes as Clint gets up and dims the lights, leaving him to soak for long enough to completely lose track of time. Just when he's starting to wonder where Clint is, he returns, beaming down at him.

"There. You look better already." His tone makes Phil blush, covering his hard cock with his hands. "Oh no you don't," Clint coos, setting a stack of fluffy towels on the counter and kneeling beside the tub. "You're going to let Daddy take care of you."

Phil whimpers, but lets his hands fall to his sides, blushing as Clint reaches into the water. "Daddy…"

"Growing up so fast," Clint purrs, squeezing Phil's cock gently and making him whimper. His hands are so strong, gripping on just the right side of pain, rough and slow and amazing. Phil shudders and keens, pressing into it.

"W-will you still take care of me when I'm grown up, Daddy?" He whispers, feeling weirdly close to tears. Clint leans in and kisses him hungrily, water running down the back of his neck as Phil clings to him with one hand and the edge of the tub with the other. Little waves lap against the sides with the motion of Clint's hand.

"Always," Clint growls, biting his neck. "I'll always take care of my boy." Phil moans, the sound turning plaintive when Clint stops a minute later. "Ssshh. We're gonna dry you off and do something even better, baby."

"Okay," Phil whispers, and lets Clint help him out and carefully dry him, wrapping him in an enormous, fluffy towel before picking him up and actually carrying him to the bedroom. Phil whines, trembling and clinging around Clint's neck. "Daddy," he whimpers, barely audible as he hides his face in the hollow of Clint's throat, pressed up against all that warm, hard strength. Clint groans quietly, stopping for a moment to just hold Phil close before continuing on to lay him out on the bed.

"Such a beautiful boy," Clint murmurs, running his hand down Phil's chest and making him shiver. "I can hardly believe you're mine."

"Yours, Daddy," Phil whimpers, moaning as Clint spreads his legs to settle between them, denim rough-soft against his thighs.

"Fuck, Phil…"

" _Daddy_ ," Phil keens, writhing under him, "Daddy, Daddy, please fuck me!"

Clint whines once, high and sharp, then gathers Phil up close and just rocks against him for a moment, and he's so bound up in those jeans that it's got to be hurting more than the rough fabric and cold metal against Phil's cock. He groans, bucking up into Clint and sobbing, begging for Daddy's cock, mewling for him to please, please put it in, that he'll make Daddy feel so good.

"I know you will. God, I know you will, kid, you're so fuckin' amazing…" He scrambles out of his shirt and hurls it aside, kissing Phil hungrily as he gets to work on his jeans. Phil is too clumsy to help and settles for shoving his hands into Clint's pants and squeezing his ass as he kisses back. Things get a little tangled as they finally get Clint free and they're both reassuring parents and helpless children in the same heated and formless moments, cooing and cursing and muffling their babel of sounds in each other's mouths until at last Clint sinks into Phil and they both stop, breathless and suspended as they fall together to become one feeling, one perfect fit.

"Ohh Daddy, you feel so good…"

Clint shudders and sets up a deep, steady pace, rocking Phil in his arms and covering him in kisses as the headboard knocks the wall. Phil just moans and holds on, letting Clint use him. He doesn't want anything but this, to be here and opened for his Daddy. He clutches at Clint's shoulders and sucks on his tongue and then the two fingers he offers, groaning deep in his chest. "Good boy," Clint breathes, "that's my good boy. You're always so good for me, Phil, I love you so fucking much…"

"Daddy!" Phil wails, on the edge of coming but not there yet, shaking and desperate, eyes beginning to fill with tears. Blunt fingertips at his stretched hole make him whimper, and then Clint is sliding most of the way out and back _in_ , so much broader, and—

"Look at me. Open your eyes, baby boy." Phil struggles to obey, panting and gazing up into Clint's dilated eyes. "That's right." He adds more slick and starts to push, gentle and steady and Phil fights to keep his eyes from rolling back, panting. "Tell Daddy if it gets to be too much."

"Feels good, Daddy," Phil whimpers, eyes fluttering shut, "feels so good." He can't manage any more than that, but it gets the point across. Clint presses fingers and cock as deep into him as they'll go and fucks him faster, stretching Phil and making him ache and burn in the best way. 

Clint groans and kisses him again, shuddering. "Touch yourself for me, baby. I wanna see you come."

Phil moans and strokes himself fast and rough, staring into Clint's eyes until his climax blinds him.

Clint slides his fingers out and stays still until Phil whimpers for him to move, begging for his come. "Please Daddy, I want to feel you all warm inside me…"

"Jesus _fuck_ ," Clint whimpers, and obeys, shaking for a long time and flooding Phil, making an agonized little noise as he finally stops and slumps half-on and half-off of him, trembling and trying to catch his breath.


	4. Coming Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint feels feelings and Phil helps him deal with it. Aftercare isn't just for the bottom, kids.

Clint is all right for a while. First he's completely blissed out and dopey because _holy shit_ , and then he's cuddling Phil and covering him in kisses and telling him over and over that he's a good boy. The best boy ever, in fact, and that finally makes Phil giggle and start to come up again, wide and glassy eyes going back to normal. Clint can't really be sure about his own, but whatever. He gets Phil rehydrated and settled and starts cleaning up. Doing all those normal things like draining the bathtub and doing the dishes. It's only after he's got everything squared away that he starts to cry. It's weird, he doesn't feel bad or anything, just… overwhelmed. That someone can trust him so much. That someone like Phil can put what feels like his whole soul into the hands of a fuckup like Clint. He takes a deep, shaking breath and tries to stop because he doesn't wanna leave Phil alone for much longer, but it's hard going. He's still a little weepy when he heads back upstairs, but he's mostly got it under control. 

He finds Phil all cuddled up to the pillow, and has to smile because he's fucking adorable. Phil opens one eye and smiles softly at him. "Hey."

"Hey," Clint answers, crawling in beside him. 

Phil wraps his arms around him and cuddles close, resting his head on Clint's shoulder. "Thanks," he says softly.

"Oh hell, Phil, you take care of me all the time, if I couldn't do the same for you I'd be an asshole."

Phil chuckles, then blinks up at him. "Have you been crying?"

"A little? I mean, I don't feel bad for anything." He hugs Phil tightly and does his best not to shake.

"Mm. Good."

Clint laughs, the sound weaker and shakier than he wants it to be. "Yeah. …Fuck, I love you so much." His voice cracks and there go the fucking waterworks again. Phil hugs him and hushes him, kissing him again and again and telling him what he didn't even realize he needed to hear, how good it was for Phil and how much being able to let go and let Clint take care of him means.

"I'm so glad I have you," he says at last, and kisses Clint deeply. It's gentle and demanding at the same time, and Clint feels himself melting under it, eyes welling up again, but less than before. He just whimpers and holds onto Phil as he slowly relaxes back down to normal. He laughs in relief when he finally can, and pulls his face out of Phil's chest to mirror his happy grin.

"Back with us, Daddy?" Phil teases, eyes sparkling.

"Little punk," Clint growls in tones of deepest affection, tweaking Phil's nose. Phil just laughs at him, and tugs him out of bed for tea. It's something Clint had never really thought he'd be into, but loaded with milk and honey it's become one of the most comforting things in the world. Now Phil rattles around in pajama bottoms (patterned with Bill the Mostly-Invisible Bird) and Clint sits and watches, wrapped in a blanket and feeling incredibly loved. Phil sets the massive jar of teabags in front of him, and Clint digs through to find blueberry tea for himself and peach for Phil, setting them out and purring embarrassingly loudly when Phil ruffles his hair and tells him those are good choices.

"God, you're adorable." He kisses the top of Clint's head.

"I love you, Daddy," Clint whispers, and can't help but cringe a little.

"I love you too, boy." He kisses Clint's cheek and somehow that makes everything all right. They steep and sip their tea in companionable silence and with plenty of milk and honey, melted together in a warm heap on the couch. There are things they could and should be doing, but they delay it for an hour or so, watching the sun start to set and basking in the orange glow. They finally get up and shower, and Phil wraps himself in a bathrobe and gets to work on the tangled mess of tax documents the show always generates, Clint sprawled on the floor at his feet and checking the math for him.


End file.
